IjJBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Chap- Copyright No. 

Shelf.„XVf Sy 

hS93 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 




p. F. WITHEKSPOON. 



SPARKS 



/ 



— BY— 

P. F. WITHERSPOON 



cincinnati 
The Editor Publishing Company 
1899 



TWO COPIES RECEIVED. 



Urbrary of CoD,r«% "P^'1>^A^ 

Office of tht ^ ^ r. 

NOV 16 1899 X\\\^^ 

ReglsUr of C»pyrlrlitifc \%^\ 



"tt i O ,,y ly 

OOPYEIOHTID 



M>fTOK PUBLISHING COMPA.NY 

ClHOINNATI. 



SECOND COPY, 






DEDICATION. 



To her, who taught my infant lips to say 
^'Our Father;" who nightly knelt with me to pray 
Beside my trundle-bed; who day and night, 
E'en from the prime of life till hairs were white 
With three-score years and more, gave me her life 
Of widowhood, 'twixt earth and heaven a strife. 
To stay with me or go and be with one, 
Her loved and lost— around yon great White Throne. 
Of myriads gathered for Eternity, 

None there more bright, more fair, more pure than she, 
My Mother. 

To two, whose early lives with mine did blend 
In one unbroken spell; too soon to end, 
Alas, too soon. From Earth they passed away, 
To that bright world where angel spirits stray. 
And yet I feel that they are with me here, 
Their smiles the same, their words to memory dear; 
Their gentle influence lingers with me yet; 
Two loved ones whom I never shall forget,— 
My Sisters. 

To one who tarries with me still; despite 
The love and beauty of that world of light; 
Despite the calls of those who've gone before, 
Who call and beckon to the yonder shore ; 



She tarries here with me And it is well: 
For how could one without the other dwell 
On Earth? But by and by, to that bright shore, 
I'll take her hand and gently lead her o'er,— 
My loving Wife. 

To all of those whose lives flow side by side 

With mine ; whose influence like a gentle tide 

Makes pure the life, and lifts the soul above 

The sordid joys of Earth; whose purest love, 

Heart, hands, and lips to word and action given, 

Leads on the soul from Earth to bliss of Heaven. 

To these; to Mother, Sisters, dearest Wife: 

And those; who make life what there is in life, - 

To Woman, 

This little book is dedicate. 

La Grange, Ga. 

May, 1899. 

THE AUTHOR. 



CONTENTS. 

The Mountain Rill 1 

Poesy ------- 6 

A Soldier's Life ------ 6 

Good-bye ------ g 

The Old Man's Home ----- 9 

"Emma Star" ----- 13 

New Year Greeting ----- 14 

The Soldier's Last Farewell - _ . iq 

Death In Prison ----- 17 

The Rainbow In Prison - - _ - 19 

The Fort Gaines' Prisoner _ - - - 24 

•Now Let Me Sleep, Mama" _ _ . 32 

To Pauline ------ 34 

Sister .----. 35 

Winnie Davis ----- 36 

Acrostic ------ 37 

The San Jacinto Flag ----- 37 

The Haunted Po-d - - - - 38 

•'Autograph'' ------ 43 

To the Graduates of 187H - - - - 43 

ForTollie ------ 46 

For Tennie ------ 47 

For Leila .-..-- 48 

For Mayo ------ 50 

Seniors. Farewell - - - - 52 



CONTENTS. 

•Graduated" ---.-_ 53 

For "Lalle" ------ 53 

To the Graduates of 1874 - . - . 54 

To May .--_.. ^ 

With ''Paradise Lost" - - . . g3 

The First Sunset - - - . _ 54 

For Birdie -.--._ 59 

The Last Sunset - . _ - . ^q 

For Nannie ------ 74 

Little White Violet - - - . 75 

Bingen On the Mine - - . . _ 73 

Kaiulani ---_.. g^ 

The Laat Sabbath Bell - . - - g? 



PREFACE. 



A time there was, but ne'er will be again, 

When rhyrne flowed freely from my nimble pen, 

When thoughts that live and breathe, and words that tell, 

Came like pure waters from some mountain dell. 

But now the pen grows stiff, the heart grows old. 

The thoughts that burned, forever have grown cold ; 

The channels from the mountain glen are dry. 

And hopes that made life young seem doomed to die. 

Well, be it so; such changes matter not; 

Mine is none other than the human lot; 

The tenderest ties, like new-born infant's breath , 

Are soonest riven by the cruel hand of death. 

And yet I would not break the lingering spell, 

Nor to its joys and pleasures say farewell ; 

But sometimes even yet would humbly soar 

On Pegasus, as in the days of yore ; 

On fearless wings of inspiration roam. 

And 'mid the spirit worlds would find my home. 

THE AUTHOR. 
La Grange, Ga. 
May, 1899. 



SPARKS 



THE MOUNTAIN RILL. 



Like fairy dream 
Of fancy born 
At quiet evening- tide, 

A little stream 

One bright May morn 
Leaped down the mountain side. 

Like maiden coy, 
Or youthful bride 

All flushed with joy 
And girlish pride, 

It glides along 

With sportive song, 
Seeking itself to hide. 

Now here, now there, 
Filling the air 

With mu'iic sweet ; 
From crag it leaps 
Adown the steeps, 
A moment sleeps 

Just at your feet; 
Nor longer stays 
To court your gaze ; 
But onward flows. 
More rapid grows. 
Till headlong goes, 



SPARKS 

Dashing, 

Splashing, 
Over-pouring, 
Wildly roaring, 
Down the mountain side. 

^Twas beautiful! so gay, so bright, 

So lovely fair ; 
Reflecting tints of Heaven's own light; 

Free as the air. 
Clear as the sky, pure as the snow. 
Tinged with a meteoric glow 

And colors gay ; 
Its beauty dazzled us awhile. 
Then with a parting smile 

It passed away. 
Child of the azure sky, 

Begotten of the sun, 

Thy race is run ; 
Good-bj^e. 

The rill passed on. It heeded not 

The comments of these mortal men; 
It knew the course of human lot 

As here and there, as now and then. 
And gone, gone, gone. 
'Mid cliffs and crags of mountains wild 
It roamed along, true nature's child, 

Nor loitered by the way. 
Feeling that life is all too short. 
That duty leaves no time to sioort 

Or idle for a day. 
It hastened on. 



SPARKS 

As thus it reached out toward its goal, 
The love of nature filled its soul, 
And love of nature's God — 

When lo ! 

With rapid flow, 
Forth from the mountain side there rushed 

A mighty stream with ocean roar; 
And white with spray its waters gushed 
From cavern deep, the open door 

To unknown depths of earth. 
From cavern deep where ghouls have birth. 

All freighted o'er 

With mighty store 

Of mystic lore 

Of days of yore. 

Its waters pour 
From caverns deep and dark. 
Its mighty numbers ceaseless roll, 
Like the lone echoes of the soul; 

Dost thou not hear them? Hark ! 
"A mighty hand, from an exhaustless urn. 
Pours forth the never-ending flood of years. 
A belt of darkness seems to bar the way. 
Long, low, and distant, where the life that is, 
Touches the life to come. The flood of years 
Rolls toward it, near and nearer. It must pass 
That dismal barrier. What is there beyond?" 

"Our fathers' God! from out whose hand 
The centuries fall like grains of sand, 
O, make Thou us, through centuries long, 
In peace secure, in justice strong; 



SPARKS 

And, cast in some diviner mold, 

Let the new cycle shame the old. 

''Amen." 

The streamlet heard, and i)aused, abashed; 
And then, 
On self-destruction bent, 

A moment flashed. 
Then headlong dashed, 
Dashing, 
Lashing, 
Clashing, 
Splashing, 
Down, down, still down, it went. 
Beyond the reach of eye or ear. 
Into a chasm, dark and drear. 
The chasm of despair; 
No mercy there; 
The dying echo of its roar— 
And all is o'er. 

Reader, thou hast the story of a life, 
'Twixt duty and mere selfishness a strife^ 
Pride and humility. 
Because one cannot be. 
In heaven's galaxy, 

A ruling sun. 
Then he'll be none. 
And this I am to-day. 
God help me now I pray, 
To live anew, 
To up and do 



SPARKS 

With all my power 
From this good hour, 
That when my course is run ; 
That when the Judgment Day shall come 
And each must stand and hear his doom; 
On that great day 
The Judge may say : 
''Well done; 
Poor, trembling soul, come Home, 
Come Home." 



POESY. 



Oh, cherish thou the gift divine ; 

Court oft the muse ; 
And into every word and line 
Strive to infuse 
The life and spirit of the happy past, 
Those days of yore. 
Perchance some thought, whose magic spell 

Finds utterance there, 
May thus in truth our story tell, 
(God grant the prayer) 
May wake to life an influence that shall last 
Forevermore. 



SPARKS 



A SOLDIER'S LIFE. 



I wander forth at eve 
On the lone sea-shore, where the dark waves lash. 
And the breakers roar, and the madcaps dash, 
And the Storm-king holds his sway- 
In dreadt'nl wrath. 
By an adverse gale on the dark waves borne, 
Is a lonelj^ sail by the temi^est torn 
As she struggles on her way 
In her homeward x)ath. 

O sailor brave, what arm can save? 
The ocean wave will be thy grave; 

Beneath the deep thou'lt sleep the sleep, 
Thy long, lone sleep ; 
While hearts with pain and anguish torn 
Shall watch, in vain, from dewy morn 
Till dusky night for thy return ; 
And eyes, once bright, with tears shall burn^ 

Shall watch for thee and weei?. 

I look again at morn. 
The skies are bright, no clouds are seen; 
The sunbeams' light, with silvery sheen. 

Fall on the wavelets of the sea, 
"Which kiss the shore beneath my feet 
As glad once more their home to greet. 

Then sink to rest in joy and peace. 



SPARKS 

And now is heard in sportive glee 
That joyous bird, the sea-gull free, 

Soaring, fluttering far on high ; 
Then wings adroop, down, down they swoop. 

Like snow-flakes falling from the sky; 
One moment lave 'neath the rippling wave, 
Then soar away to join in play. 
And never cease. 

But see, that lone sail's coming now! 
The sunbeams play around her prow, 

The sea-breeze bends her graceful mast; 
She nears the shore, her journey's o'er, 
The storm is past, her anchor cast. 
She's safe, she's safe, she's home at last. 

Such is my life, so lonely here, 

So full»of strife, so dark, so drear. 

No one my lonely heart to cheer. 

O soldier brave, what arm is there 

Thy soul to save from dark despair. 

While tempests roar and billows roll. 

And trials sore beset the soul? 

Oh say, what arm with mighty power 

Shall save from harm in this dread hour, 

From fiery dart and wicked art 

Of the Storm-king of the human heart? 

There comes a voice from the mighty deej). 
When the storm is hushed and the billows sleep: 
"Mine is the power, mine the will. 
Mine the voice the storm can still. 
Trust thou in me and fear no ill. 
Thy staff I'll be and comfort still." 



SPARKS 

O God, I trust in Thee. Be Thou my friend, 
And guide my frail bark to its journey's end ; 
Nor let me from Thy precepts wander far, 
Thy Word my Compass, and thy Cross my Star. 

(On Picket. 2l8t Ala. Cedar Point, below Mobile. Feby., '6i) 



GOOD-BYE. 



Where'er I be, where'er I roam. 

My spirit free still turns to thee 

And to loved ones at home ; 

Still whispers oft in tones so soft 

That every heart-string feels the thrill; 

Still tells of one now far and lone. 
And bids thee bless the wanderer still. 
Then fare thee well. Where'er I go 
My heart with love for thee shall burn. 
And when 
At evening hour 
This spirit-power 
Shall bind thee with its secret spell. 

Join with me there in fervent prayer, 
To Heaven, for my return; 
And feel and know 

I'm with thee then, 

(Camp Fisher, Va. March U, '61.) 



SPARKS 



'THE OLD MAN^S HOME.' 



On a sea-girt isle, in the morning gray, 

I watch the wavelets kiss the shore ; 
I watch the mad-caps' feathery spray. 
And list the billowy breakers' roar; 
Dashing, splashing, ever lashing. 
Glad to meet the strand once more ; 
Meeting, greeting, ever beating, 
On the island shore. 

As one by one the strand they lave, 

Then ripple back to their Ocean home 
To sink beneath in their deep down grave. 

Or in trackless path for aye to roam; 
Methinks in their murmurs sad and drear, 

So like my own heart's pensive strain, 
As they kiss the shore this voice I hear: 

"We meet, we meet, but to part again." 

'Tis the quiet hour, of day the last. 

For thought and fancy ever blest. 
When cares of anxious day are past, 

And wearied nature sinks to rest. 
The clouds float lightly o'er the sky, 

The sun is sinking in the west. 
His beams fall softly on the eye. 

Reflected from the Ocean's breast. 



10 SPARKS 

Dipping, tipping-, ever sipping, 

Thus the sunbeams lave, 
Suing, wooing, ever ruing. 

Kissing every wave. 

And as he sets, each parting ray 

Gilding the waves with golden sheen, 

In silent sadness seems to say : 

''We meet, we meet, to part again." 

And thus it is from morn till eve ; 

Life is a stage of scenes unknown, 
Joys come and go, hopes oft deceive, 

We grasp at pleasure and 'tis gone. 
Yes, joy and pain at once we sip. 

One breath says "howdy," and "good-bye;'^ 
The greeting kiss scarce fades the lip 
Ere parting tears bedim the eye. 
Meeting, greeting, ever fleeting; 

Like a vv^akeful dream. 
Starting, darting, ever parting, 
On life's rapid stream. 

Life is a stage, a scene, a dream ; 

A dream undreamed, a tale untold; 
Things are not always what they seem. 

For all that glitters is not gold. 
To-day we yield to pleasure's power. 

To-morrow brings us care and x:)ain; 
For change is stamped on every hour, 

''We meet, we meet, but to part again." 

Do pleasures tlien like bubbles burst 
Upon the lips that would caress? 



SPARKS 11 

Then whence this burnnig-, harrowing- thirst, 

This long-ing- after happiness? 
Why grasps the soul at every joy, 

Why sports around each luring flame. 
If pleasure's but a brittle toy, 

If hope is but an empty name ; 
If life is ever on the Aving, 

And all things hasting to decay; 
If hopes that bloom in earliest spring 

Like roses soonest fade aw^ay; 
If love is bat a fickle ray, 

A Will o' the Wisp, a meteor bright, 
That lures us on like summer day 
To leave us in the gloom of night? 
Tasting, hasting, ever w^asting 

All things bright and fair; 
Bending, pending, ever w^ending, 
Tending to despair. 

Then who could bear the bitter fate. 

The aching breast, the bleeding heart. 
Which scarce has learned to know its mate. 

And love her, ere they're forced to part? 
Oh, who could bear life's weary hours 

Of cheering hopes, of torturing fears, 
Of once bright, but now faded flowers. 

The severed ties of long, long years? 
Or w^ho those ties would reunite. 

Or trust again Love's brittle chain? 
Who see Hope's web so often blight, 

Yet ''spin the bright tissue again?" 



12 SPARKS 

Ah, life is not an idle dream, 

A thing "when happiest soonest o'er," 
For just beyond the Avhirling stream 

I see the shore, the golden shore. 
There all is sunshine, naught is gloom, 

No tear to dim the love-lit eye ; 
There hopes, fond hopes, immortal bloom. 

And loving hearts shall never die. 

Some on life's surface gaily ride 

And chase each bubble as they go. 
Nor seem to think its wayward tide 

Leads on to wretchedness and woe. 
While others "strive to stem the flood," 

And beat across the downward wave 
To that bright shore, home of the good, 

Home of the true, the pure, the brave: 
And as they near the Happy Land , 

A glad shout greets them from the shore, 
The welcome shout of an angel band : 

"We meet, we meet, to part no more." 

Then forward, onward, ever homeward. 

To the golden shore ; 
Meeting, greeting, never fleeting, 

Meeting there to part no more. 

(Prisoner on Ship Island. Xov. '64. 

On the fly-leaves of The Old Man's Home, a little book pi'esented by Mrs. 
Mary E. Randall, of New Orleans.) 



SPARKS 13 



'EMMA STAR.' 



Long years ago I loved a lass 

With slender form and graceful air, 

And rosy cheeks and ruby lips, 

And sparkling eyes and glossy hair; , 
Her name was Emma Star. 

Her form was like the mountain sylph's, 
Her hair was that of fairy queen ; 

Yet timid as the wild-wood fawn, 

The sweetest blush that e'er was seen 
Was the blush of Emma Star. 

Her cheeks were red with glow of youth, 
Her lips were soft as dewy night, 

Her eyes were like two ''chincapins" 
Bathed in a sea of liquid light — 
The eyes of Emma Star. 

Star of my destinj^ my life, 

Star of my boyhood's every dream. 

Star of life's morn, so fair, so bright; 

Gliding adown youth's wayward stream. 
I worshiped Emma Star. 

Time flies, life ebbs: on all things else 
Change his unchanging seal has set; 

Long years have gone, that self-same light 
Beams o'er my wandering pathway yet — 
The Love of Emma Star. 



14 SPARKS 

Sunshine or storm, or night or day, 

'Mid smiles of joy or sorrow's tears, 

Bright in my boyhood's fancy dreams. 
Still brighter in my manhood's years- 
The Love of Emma Star. 

Star of my boyhood's early love. 

Star of my manhood's sterner life, 

May ne'er a cloud o'ershade thy life. 
My loving, fond, and faithful wife — 
My own dear Emma Star. 

"Battery B." Mobile, Feby. 14, 1865. 



NEW YEAR GREETING. 



As loving- hearted, merry and gay 

The mocking-bird sits in the month of May, 

Sits in his bower and warbles away 

His beautiful song all the livelong day: 

As loving-hearted, happy and free 
The humming-bird flits, in his sportive glee, 
From flower to flower and from tree to tree, 
Flitting along so thoughtlessly: 

As loving-hearted, faithful and true, 
The innocent dove with his softest coo 
His mate to his side would so fondly woo, 
So my spirit comes, my loved one, to you. 



SPARKS 15 

Comes in the morn with the dawn's early light, 
Comes in tlie noon with the snnshine so bright, 
Comes in the eve with tlie soft, stilly night. 
Comes, with thy spirit a true love to plight. 

Comes with its fond hopes, comes with its fears, 
Comes with its sunshine, comes with its tears, 
Comes with its happiness, comes with its sorrow, 
Comes with the hope of a bright day to-morrow. 

Comes when oppressed with a burden of care. 
Comes when weighed down to the brink of desi3air. 
Comes when o'erwhelmed with tlie billows of grief. 
Comes then to thy spirit to seek for relief. 

Comes when thy spirit is thoughtful and sad. 
Comes then my spirit thy spirit to glad; 
Comes when thy lone heart is trembling with fear. 
Comes then my spirit thy lone heart to cheer. 

Yes, whatever my lot, where'er I may be. 
By day or by night, on land or on sea, 
In sadness and sorrow, or blithesome and free, 
My spirit is coming, still coming to thee. 

Then come at my spirit's call, come, oh come ; 
While the stars are lighting the heaven's blue dome; 
Through all those bright worlds together we'll roam 
And find for our twin spirits in Heaven a Home. 



Near Dumfries, Va. , Jany. 1862, 



16 SPAKKS 



THE SOLDIER'S LAST FAREWELL. 



(In his lady-love'fl album for my friead, Willie Marti a. Sergeant Co, 
2l8t Ala.,afterwardg killed by my side in a rifle-pit at Spanish Fort.) 
"Farewell. It mayibe long ere we shall meet again as we have met." 

Yes, fare thee well, and when thou'rt far aw^ay, 
And memory round thy soul has thrown her spell, 

Then grant one fond, one lingering thought may stray 
Back to this heart which bids thee now, farewell. 

Yes, breathe one earnest wish, one faithful prayer, 
Which o'er my heart, with talismanic power. 

Shall shed the sweets of heaven's own native air, 
And cheer me on in every lonely hour. 

It may be long ere we shall meet again. 

And yet I would not be by thee forgot. 
One lasting link I'd weave in memory's chain. 

One charm to whisper still, forget me not. 

Then let this tribute be that mystic link 

Binding thy spirit to the happy past: 
Look often on;this page and fondly think 

Of one who'll love thee long as life shall last. 

Dark clouds now shade my life, and darker yet 
The hand of fate may write my destiny: 

One light shall ne'er grow dim, one star ne'er set, 
That light, that star, the love I bear to thee. 



SPARKS 17 

Then go, and fare thee well, my friend; 

I would not have thee stay 'mid scenes of strife, 
Where rage and madness all their furies blend 

And poison all the sweetest streams of life. 

May smiles of heaven like sunbeams round thee play. 
May joy like flowers in spring-time round thee bloom, 

May life to thee be one long summer's day, 
Freighted with pleasure, free from every gloom. 

And when in quiet eve, when none is near. 

My spirit passes by in memory's train, 
Then think of me and breathe this fervent prayer, 

'"Neath brighter skies may we soon meet again." 

(Her family left Mobile for the interior, and they two met no more.) 



DEATH IN PRISON. 

(Found drad ill bis bunk in Picajune Piefs, N. O., Private Shepherd, 
21st Ala., Aug. 9, 1864.) 

In the lone prison wall, on the still Sabbath night. 
We had gathered us all round the taper's dim light. 

While the minister told, 
With a tear on his cheek, (that mute voice of the heart 
Which no tongue can e'er speak and no language impart) 

That sweet story of old : 



18 SPAEKS 

Of the Savior who died, guilty sinners to save 
From the dark rolling- tide and wide gasping grave 

Of eternal despiiir ; 
Of his beautiful home in the mansions above, 
Where he bids us all come, and with heart full of love 

Waits to welcome us there. 

Oh, how sweet thus to feel the blessed Spirit of grace 
With his influence steal through this singular place, 

From the wide world shut in; 
And full many a soul with its burden of grief 
^Neath that Spirit's control did here And relief 

From the power of sin. 

But one there was here who joined in the song 
And the spirit of j^rayer, wiio was destined e'er long 

To that home to be shown; 
For the morning light broke with its health-giving air, 
But he never awoke — his dead body was there, 

But his spirit had flown. 

No mother stood by him to list his last sigh. 

No sister w^as nigh him, none to close his bright eye. 

Bright and sparkling no more. 
Not a comrade was near his last moments to watch, 
His last wishes to hear, his last whisper to catch 

On the storm-beaten shore. 

But all lonely and lone in the still hours of night. 
Not a pain, not a groan, he crossed o'er with delight. 

And by angels was borne. 
With a smile in his eye and good-bye on his lips, 
To that home in the sky where the light ever drips 

With the dews of the morn. 



SPARKS 19 

Yes, his lips seemed to say:"Tell my friends I have crosse d 
To that bright world of day where the soul is ne'er tossed, 

Nor from loved ones be-driven ; 
My wife, ah 'twill grieve you my sad story to tell, 
'Tis hard thus to leave you, thus to bid you farewell, 

But I'll meet you in heaven." 

Then his body we bore to its coffin of pine. 
And we joined as before in the music divine 

And the spirit of prayer; 
But he knew not a word that the minister said. 
Nor the sweet music heard as we stood round the dead 

Coldly slumbering there. 

Not a dirge sad and lone, not a step to keep pace, 
All alone he was borne to his last resting place. 

Of life's journey the end. 
Ah, my life shall grow old, and its sun shall be set, 
And this heart shall grow cold, e'er I ever forget 

The sad deatli of my friend. 



THE RAINBOW IN PRISON. 



( A cotnp'ete arcb, onp end resting on the ground between ug and the 
outer wall; the other extending far out into Dixie.) 

Thou beautiful Rainbow, thou emblem of Love, 

How oft have I gazed on thine exquisite form, 

As it spanned in its archway the heavens above, 

And betokened the sunshine in spite of the storm. 



20 SPARKS 

How once as I watched at the door of my cot, 

From my dearly loved home, my own Sylvan home 

Of all of Earth's Edens, the loveliest spot, 

I gazed on thy beauty lighting heaven's dark dome. 

With my arm round the form of the one I love best, 
Her hand on my shoulder, the other in mine, 

Of the claims of the world I forgot all the rest, 

Enamoured of Beauty, I knelt at her shrine. 

I studied thy colors, the purest of light. 

So softly relieved by the dark sombre sky. 

Then studied her features so joyous and bright, 

And looked down in the depths of her liquid eye. 

Enchanted and spell-bound, a suppliant I bowed 

To the Goddess of Beauty; and scarcely could tell 

At which of her shrines I most fervently vowed 

Or which priestess I worshiped, I loved both so well. 

I gazed on thy loveliness, then on her own ; 

I looked at ihine archway, then at her form: 
A smile lit her features— the victory was won, 

She had all of thy sunshine and none of thy storm^ 

Thou beautiful Rainbow, thou emblem of Hope, 

With thine arms round the world, and thy center 
on high. 

As if dangling the earth in thy wonderful scope 

With a ribbon of light from the dome of the sky. 



SPARKS 21 

How oft have I watched thee, thou delicate arch, 

Thou creature of light, hanging out in the sky 

O'er the path of the sun in his triumphal march, 

Till the storm-king was hushed, and the clouds had 
passed by. 

Thus when dark clouds of doubt had come over the soul 

And the hopes that were anchored to earth had been 
riven. 

When the wild tempests toss and the dark billows roll, 

Thine arch sjjans the sky like the gateway of heaven. 

Thou beautiful Rainbow, thou emblem of Faith, 

How sweet are tlie lessons I gather from thee, 

As I hear in thy beauty that voice as it saith : — 

"Fear not, I am with thee where'er thou mayst be. 

"At home or away, on the sea, on the shore, 

In the sunlight of joy, or on sorrow's dark tide. 

When the wild billows rage, and the mad tempests roar. 

Still I shall be with thee, thy guard and thy guide. 

"When cut off from all of earth that is dear. 

From home and its loved ones, from children and 
wife, 
From friends and companions, from kindred so near, 

Shut out from earth's beauties till weary of life; 

"Then turn thine eye upward, and gaze with delight 

On the beauties of heaven, the home of the blest. 

Where hearts here dissevered by death's cruel blight 
Shall be mingled again and forever at rest." 



22 SPARKS 

Thou beautiful Rainbow, thou emblem of Peace, 

Thou dost light up the sky 'mid the storm and the rain. 

Thou dost point to the time when this warfai'e will cease 
And the blessings of Heaven smile on us again. 

With one arm in my prison and one at my home, 

Thou dost bridge o'er the space 'twixt hearts near 
and dear; 
How glad o'er thine archway my spirit would roam 

And meet with my loved ones, their lone hearts to 
cheer. 

Or I^d whisper a message, a special dispatch, 

I'd send o'er thy love-line a telegram true, 

In letters of Beauty, her bright eyes to catch : 

'^I love you, my dearie, Hove only you." 

Thou beautiful Rainbow, thou emblem of Heaven. 

I welcome thee here, thou sweet friend of my heart; 
Thou comest when my soul by dark tempest is driven. 

Bright hope to awaken, and peace to impart. 

Long years shall roll onward, life's sun shall be set, 
x^nd the night of the grave its dark sable pall 

Shall spread o'er my i^athway, ere I ever forget 

Thy visit, my sweet friend, to this lone prison wall. 

Then stay, thou bright vision, oh fade not away. 

Let me gaze on thy beauty and live in thy light, 

Till my soul growing purer, day after day. 

Shall reflect thine own image, all ^jeerless and bright. 



SPARKS 23 

But no, thou art fading, fast fading- from view. 

Like all of earth's pleasures thou'rt passing away; 

And I gaze with regret on thy last lingeiing hue 

As it tinges the cloud like the sunset's last ray. 

But the clouds too are gone and the storm now is o'er. 

And the sky far above me is cloudless and clear. 
Ah, 'tis thus when the storm clouds of sorrow may lower. 

And the earth seems the darkest, that heaven is near. 

Then welcome afflictions, and sorrows, and tears; 

And welcome the trials through which we may come ; 
And welcome the dark clouds of doubts and of fears; 
^ If they bring us thus nearer to Heaven, our home. 

Yes, I welcome you all, I fear not your power. 

Though all maybe darkness, around and above; 

I hail you with pleasure, if in the dark hour 

I can see but the Eainbow of Mercy and Love. 

Soon the clouds will be past, and the storm will be o'er, 
Earth's journey be finished and life have its end, 

And my soul find its home where storms are no more, 

In the home of the Savior,. the sinner's best friend. 



(Picayune Press, N. O.) 



SPARKS 



THE FORT GAINES PRISONER. 



(Military Prison. Picayune Press. N. O.) 

'Twas night, 
And o'er the Crescent City reigned supreme 
The power of sleep : while all the living stream, 
Which through the veins and arteries thrilled 
Of this great thoroughfare, awhile was stilled 
As if in death. No voice was heard; no sound. 
Save the slow tread of guardsmen stationed round 
A dusky wall, which formed the living grave 
Of patriots, who their native land to save 
From thraldom worse than abject slavery, dared 
The combined powers of earth defy; who shared 
The toils of war, and nobly now endured 
Its deepest dregs, in prison walls immured. 

The bells long since had chimed the midnight hour; 

And famished hearts and limbs bespoke the i^ower 

Of "Nature's sweet restorer, balmy Sleep." 

In dreams of home and loved ones, still to keep 

Her sway o'er man, e'en in a prison wall: 

For now the prisoners slept; but no, not all. 

One heart there was, God knows how many more 

There may have been, one heart with sorrow sore; 

One mind weighed down with cares that seethed the brain 

And filled the heart with racking, aching pain. 

Till nature failed, and tears which long had slept. 

Crept down the furrowed cheek; the soldier wept. 



SPARKS 25 

And wherefore wept? what grief can wring the tears 

From that stern heart inured by test of years 

To toils of camp and battle's fearful strife? 

Can it be thought of loved and lovely wife, 

Who now the lonely night-long watch must keep, 

Beside the trundle-bed where sweetly sleep 

Two fair-haired boys, as bright as e'er were seen, 

And prattling little girl, the sweet Pauline? 

And ever and anon with lialf affright 

The mother gazes out into the night. 

Listening perchance some warning sound may come 

To tell of vicious foe who seeks her home 

With hell-invented weapons, fire and hate — 

Oh God, in mercy spare her such a fate. 

Then kneeling by the loved ones nestled there. 

She clasps her hands in fervent, fai<-hful prayer, 

That God would save her country, and restore 

Her husband to her longing arms once more. 

Was it such scene before his fancy swept? 

Ah no, all this was his; but not for this he wept. 



Can it be thought of downtrod native land 
Struggling in grasp of wicked tyrant's hand? 
Cast off by friends, down-trodden by the foe. 
She cries for lielp in this the hour of woe, 
Calls on her sons with her last faltering breath, 
To gather round and save her from this death. 
And now from every glen and mountain home. 
From hill and vale, they cry: '*We come, we come. 
On to the rescue, on; and nobly dare 
Our land to save, or else her ruin share." 



26 SPARKS 

Half million hearts are on her altar laid, 

Half million heroes grasp the battle blade, 

While now is heard the dreadful clang of strife; 

Foe against foe, battling for dearest life ; 

''Oh God," he cries, ''is there no power to save, 

No arm to shield the fortunes of the brave! 

Oh Thou, who rulest the destinies of men, 

And seest all in one infinite ken. 

Shall wrong o'er right shall vice o'er virtue reign, 

In this, the confines of thine own domain? 

And must it be that I thus far away 

From friends and comrades, in these walls must stay, 

Whilst they are struggling on the battle plain. 

For rights which lost can ne'er be won again? 

Oh bitter fate, too hard to bear! Oh grief. 

To which e'en death itself were sweet relief! 

Oh God of justice, hear, in mercy hear ! 

Oh God of love, my bleeding country spare !" 

Were these the thoughts that racked the man of years, 

Opening afresh the fount of childhood's tears? 

Was it for this he wept? All this was his, 

Enough for which to weep; but no, 'twas not for this. 



'Twas not for this? Then tell, we pray, what grief, 
What woe unheard, what pang beyond relief 
Can yet be his, can yet befall the lot 
Of frail humanity? Ah no, 'twas not 
That he was lost to friends and kindred near, 
Lost to his home, to wife and children dear. 
Lost to his country, nor could hear her cry 
In this the hour of her extremity. 



SPARKS 27 

Ah no, 'twas not that he had toiled in vain, 

Had spent long wintry nights of cold and rain 

On the bare ground, or stood 'neath sultry sun 

Till nature's strength o'ertasked, her powers outdone. 

Disease lays hold and claims him as her own, 

So that with frenzied brain and feverish tone, 

Upon his lonely bed, all racked with pain, 

He fights his battles o'er and o'er again. 

Calls for his mother, calls for sister dear, 

Alas ! no mother there, no sister near. 

Calls then again, and begs, but begs in vain. 

His head to lave, to ease his torturing pain. 
Alas! no mother's ear hears his distress; 
No tear-dimmed eye to watch, no lips to press 
His pallid brow; no soft, white hand to lave 
The burning temples which with fienzy rave. 
Calls for his darling wife, calls her by name, 
''One drink of water, love, to quench this flame. 
This parching thirst, to cool this throbbing brow." 
Alas, no darling wife is near him now, 
No gentle hand to soothe, none to caress, 
No eye to pity and no lips to bless. 

'Twas not that he and his had fought in vain 
Against the minioned host that filled the plain: 
For days and nights had kept tliem at arm's length 
Though numbering five to one in point of strength, 
Until on all sides, on the Gulf and Bay, 
The iron fleet Avas drawn in proud array. 
Numbering in guns two hundred to our -none. 
Knowing that all was done that could be done, 



28 SPARKS 

Resistance was but self-destruction now, 
With tear- dimmed eyes and stubborn wills we bow 
To fate's behest. Our country's flag they lower: 
Their "stars and stripes" run up; while cannon's roar 
Proclaims, ''Fort Gaines is lost, Fort Gaines is lost:" 
Still echoing through our hearts, '4ost, lost, lost." 

But this it wiis: that after all he'd borne. 

From wife and friends, from home and country torn, 

And after having toiled through all in vain, 

His country's rights and honor to maintain, 

By overpowering numbers forced to yield. 

For want of arms to quit the bloody field, 

That those to whom he looked for sympathy 

Should brand him, and consign to infamy 

His character, as traitor, coward, knave, 

Unworthy to associate with the brave; 

Denying even the humblest soldier's meed, 

A country's gratitude for well-done deed. 

Ah who, but knows ingratitude's sharp sting 
With all the poisons that around it cling. 
And who, but feels its keen and poignant smart 
Piercing like barbed arrow to the heart. 
Its power can tell? To love a child too well, 
To feel her influence, with a magic spell, 
Like tender tendril twining round the heart. 
Till of one's very self she forms a part: 
Day after day, year after year, to kiss 
Her cheeks of innocence, nor ever wish 
That she has grown to womanhood; to press 
Her angel form, her ruby lips caress. 



SPARKS 29 

Till twined around the heart, with viper's fang 

Of base ingratitude she sends a pang 

Through every vein of limb and quivering frame, 

Poisoning the heart whence her own being came ; 

Poor ingrate, lilve the mistletoe, she dries 

The source of her own life-blood, and then— dies. 

Ah, worse than winter snow or summer heat. 

And worse than loss of friends and friendship sweet, 

And worse than e'en this life in prison wall, 

Is this, '^the most unkindest cut of all," 

When friendly hand armed with the poisoned steel 

Strikes to the heart the wound it ne'er can heal. 

Ah yes, of all ingratitude the worst. 

Most bitter, most unkind, to be accursed 

By one's own country, from her bosom hurled. 

An outcast on the sneering, scorning world, 

Unfit to live, unfit to be a slave. 

Scorned by the coward, pitied by the brave; 

"Oh God," he cries, ''if I am right, defend: 

If wrong, then mercy show, forgiveness lend; 

Press me not down to death, mercy, forbear. 

It mads my brain, it drives me to despair." 

Oh strongman, rouse thee from thy grief. 
There yet is hope, there yet is one relief: 
Thy country calls, in agony she calls ; 
On to the rescue, ere she bleeding falls. 
Rush to her Standard, snatch it from the earth. 
And swear, ah, swear by her who gave thee birth. 
By wife and children dear, by graves of sires. 
By all that's dear of earth, by fond desires 



30 SPARKS 

And cherished hopes which in the future lie, 
Oh, swear for her to live, or with her die. 

Up from thy g-rief , and on the battle plain 

Thou yet shalt live to wipe away this stain, 

To give the lie to knights of pen and ink. 

Brave knights, who fain would have the country think 

Themselves its sole defence 'gainst every wrong. 

Sanctum Sanctorum, double casemate strong, 

Bear witness while the daring deeds we tell 

Of those brave knights who in your castles dwell: — 

They forge the bolts of muflfled thunder dread, 

With choler, bile, and indigaation red; 

And shells with spit- fire filled, from air-guns hurled, 

Whizzing and fizzing and bursting o'er the Vv^orld, 

'Till the whole universe moves on in fear 

Of dormant powers, torpedoes slilmbering there. 

Brave knights ! they battle in imagination. 

And at one stroke o'erwhelm the whole creation ; 

One stroke of pen, not sword ; no, by my song, 

Swords to their line of business don't belong; 

Weapons they use peculiar to their trade, 

And charge with bombast, fustian, and tirade, 

Beating e'en Samson, if you'd hear them tell, 

With that fierce v/eapon which he used so well. 

At once to earth a thousand men he hurled; 

With the same weapon they've oft whipped the world. 

And so they snort, and so they madly rage, 

Ijike some huge beast confined in iron cage. 

The tempest boils and boils, until, alas ! 

The teapot bursts, when out comes a — bag of gas, 

Or what you please, so you don't spoil my rhyme. 



SPARKS 81 

And so we'll let them rage. There comes a time, 
*'When Peace on earth will hold her gentle sway, 
And man forget his fellow-man to slay;" 
When truth and love and justice will prevail 
O'er every foe that dares their rights assail; 
When honest wortli and merit will decide 
Who sinks beneath, who rides upon the tide 
Of public favor. Then tiie world will know. 
Then historj^, the great statute-book will show, 
Who was a patriot, and who not. Then fame 
A niche will give to each immortal name ; 
A niche within her temple's sacred hall; 
A niche wrouglit out in solid marble wall, 
By days and years of honest toil and strife 
For virtue, honor, liberty, and life. 

Within this hall e'en now methinks we see 
The names and forms bright in futurity. 
There in that loftj'- arch, in bold relief, 
You see the loved form of our warrior chief. 
While round him cluster an illustrious throng 
Of braves, who would claim homage of my song 
Did time permit. Braves did I say? ah, braves: 
Whose deeds will live despite oblivion's waves. 
When names of meaner men forgotten lie, 
Their names will live, "they were not born to die." 

But time forbids, we leave this sacred hall- 
Stop, see, what niche is this in outer wall, 
With bars closed up like some lone felon's cell? 
What statue strange is this? for mercy tell. 
Oh, this is the niche of would-if-he-could-be-Jove, 
Him who with borrowed thunder vainly strove 



32 SPARKS 

To rule the universe. This niche he wrought: 
The "ruling passion strong in death," he thought 
That all would like to see him as they pass, 
Dictator of the tea-pot, poor — bag of gas. 

No more the lion brays with split-quill calls , 
He's tabled here, and here the curtain falls. 
Peace to his bones, and specially his jaw-bone. 
As to his soul, all's easy, for he had none. 



'NOW LET ME SLEEP, MAMA." 



(La't words of little Percy Lockhart. Pontotoc, Miss.) 

"Mother, oh mother, I'm weary to-night. 
I'm weary of sunshine, weary of light, 
Weary of darkness, of night's drearj'^ i>all; 
I'm weary to-night, mother, weary of all. 
Then lay me again in my soft trundle bed, 
Smoothe down the pillow under my head. 
Then by my bedside your soft vigils keep: 
Now let me sleep, mother, now let me sleep ; 
Mother, mother, now let me sleep. 

"Brush back the locks of my light glossy hair, 
Place your soft hand on mj^ temx)le so fair; 
Press those fond lips to my feverish cheek. 
And words of sweet cheer to my faint heart speak. 
Speak tome kindly, speak words of joy, 
Tell me you love me, call me your boy: 



SPARKS 33 

Then by my bedside your Boft vigils keep, 
Now let me sleep, mother, now let me sleep. 
Mother, mother, now let me sleep. 

"Yes, gaze once again in my liquid eye, 
Reflecting from heaven like the evening sky ; 
The most beautiful tints are ever the last. 
And the brighter they seem the sooner they're past. 
Then gaze once again ere my eyelids close 
And the heart sinks to rest in its calm repose. 
Then by my bedside your soft vigils keep. 
Now let me sleep, mother, now let me sleep ; 
Mother, mother, now let me sJeep." 

Then place on his bosom the roses rare. 
Brush back the locks of his light glossy hair, 
Imprint the warm kiss on his cold marble brow. 
And speak in soft whisperings— he heeds not now. 
In the churchyard lone where the dark willows wave, 
Lay him away in the cold, silent gravt-. 

Where angels around him soft vigils shall keep ; 
There let him sleep, mother, th( re let him sleep; 
Mother, mother, there let him sleep. 

And oh, when the storms on life's ocean shall roll 
Their billows of care o'er thy sorrowing soul, 
Then think of the love-light that beamed from his eye, 
And look from this dark Avorld to Heaven's blue sky, 
Where all is so happy, so bright, and so fair. 
And know that thy loved one is waiting thee there. 
]No sickness, no sorrow, no vigils to keep, 
No more to sleep, mother, no more to sleep; 
''Never, never, never to sleep." 



34 SPARKS 



TO PAULINE. 



(Scatteiing flowers on the grave of little Percy.) 

Bring flowers, bring flowers, for the beautiful dead. 
Bring flowers to strew o'er his narrow bed. 
They are blooming in beauty and sweetness now; 
Bring flowers, fresh flowers for his marble brow, 
For his lily white hand and his glossy hair: 
It is meet they should fade in their beauty there. 

Bring flowers, bring flowers, for the beautiful dead ; 
Bring flowers to strew o'er his lonely bed. 
Where the moonbeams play with trembling light, 
And the stars look down in the soft stilly night. 
Let their fragrance float out on the silent air, 
It is meet they should waste their sweetness there. 

Bring flowers, bring flowers, for thine earliest love, 
Whose spirit has gone to the bright world above. 
Has burst from its home in the cold, worthless clay 
Which 'neath the lone sod now goes to decay. 
Bring flowers, bring flowers, for the loved one now gone, 
Bring flowers, bright flowers, to fade here alone. 

Ah, often in childhood together you've played. 
Ah, oft through the garden and orchard you've strayed, 
With hand joined in hand, through long happy hours, 
Forgetting all else, you've gathered the flowers; 
The flow^ers are withered, the bright hours are fled. 
Bring flowers, white flowers, for the early dead. 



SPARKS 35 



SISTER. 



^'Sister," what magic charm hangs round the name, 
What fire mysterious thrills my very frame ; 
Breathes o'er my soul a sense of joy complete, 
Of happiness, for heaven and angels meet. 
Star of Love's canopy the brightest, best; 
Soul-beacon, guide to an eternal rest. 
Should e'er the world grow cold, and heartless prove. 
I'll hie me to that home, a sister's love. 

Would I could live with thee thus ever near. 
Would I could love thee still; nor hope, nor fear. 
But thou wouldst share or soothe ; nor joy, nor pain, 
But thy young heart would image forth again. 
Yet such can never be; this happy state 
Must change beneath the iron hand of fate ; 
That loving heart was never made for me, 
We part, we part, such is our destiny. 

Some unknown one will woo thee to his side, 
Ere long will claim thee as his gentle bride; 
Will tear thee from thy brother's aching breast- 
No more; I bow, 'tis all-wise Heaven's behest. 
And this, then, is our lot, it must be so; 
Thy happiness demands it, dear one go. 
For all that's fair on earth, that's dear above, 
I would not stay thee from the bliss of Love. 



5 SPARKS 

Yet oft amid life's sunny spots and shade, 

This heart will fill with thoughts of Sister dear; 
And ah, should sorrow e'er thy soul invade, 

Turn to this heart and say, my home is here. 
And when for us the sands of time are run. 

And when these ever changing- scenes are o'er. 
And when we view on earth life's setting sun. 

We'll meet in Heaven, and meet to part no more. 

(Sylvan Home, Miss.) 



WINNIE DAVIS. 



(September 18th, 1898.) 

While the leaves are sadly shading. 
In the forests slowly fading, 

'Neath the autumn sky ; 
Now the time for farewell parting 
In the hour of homeward starting. 

E'en the time to die. 

Daughter! how we did adore thee. 
As we loved thy sire before thee. 

Vision fleet and fair! 
In the home of God, the giver, 
Soldiers, when we cross the river, 

WINNIE DAVIS will be there. 



SPARKS 



37 



ACROSTIC. 



Emma darling, 
Mine to cherish, 
Mine to win and 
Always happy, 

• Fickle hearts may 
Unsuspected, 
Love me, dearest, 
Thine I'll be, love, 

(Picayune Press. Oct. 1st, 1864.) 



Emma dear, 
Mine to cheer, 
Mine to woo, 
Always true. 

For awhile, 
Us beguile. 
Love me, wife. 
Throughout life. 



THE SAN JACINTO FLAG. 



Come, Veterans, here in one great throng- 
Convened from near and far. 

Come, one and all, join in my song 
Of the flag with a single star, 

^'Hurrah, hurrah, for the Bonnie Blue Flag, hurrah! 
Hurrah for the San Jacinto Flag, 
That bears a single star!" 

Your heads are white, your bodies stooped 

And rough with many a scar; 
But here's your flag that never drooped. 

The flag with a single star. 



38 SPARKS 

A band of brothers now are you, 

Of heroes famed in war, 
And soldiers all well tried and true 

Of the flag with the single star. 

We sing it without boast or brag, 

Your names immortal are, 
With this your San Jacinto Flag 

That bears the single star. 

Flag of our fathers, doubly dear, 

None can thy glory mar; 
One loud hurrah, one rousing cheer 

For the Flag with the single star. 

(Sung for the Veterans, by Little Pauline, at their Paris Reunion. The 
old soldiers went wild with excitement, and crowded the stage.) 



THE HAUNTED POND. 



The summer sun was beaming down 

One sultry July day. 
As all alone I jogged along 

My tiresome, lonesome way. 

A shady mill-pond near the road. 
Good luck, I chanced to spy; 

And lighting from my weary steed, 
''Now for a swim," said I. 



SPARKS 89 

My green silk suit and garskin cap 

I donned with easy grace. 
Then sank into the water clear 

As 'twere my native place. 

Full half an hour had passed away, 

A fisherman I spied ; 
Into a little nook I swam 

Beneath the bank to hide. 

'Twas freedman with his pole and line, 

Whistling a merry tune, 
And straying from the neighboring mill 

To spend his hour at noon. 

Now pole and line, and hook and baiL, 

Are all arranged so quite; 
And on the bank he takes his seat 

Just waiting for a bite. 

Efeneatli the water then I sank. 

With scarce a stir or sound, 
And in a trice right at his feet 

I came up with a bound. 

My garskin cap, my dripping beard. 

My wildly staring eyes ! 
One rebel yell, you should have heard 

That frightened darkey's cries. 

Down to the mill he took his flight. 

His story to relate ; 
And well I knew 'twould not be long 

That I should have to wait. 



40 SPARKS 

• Excited voices soon I heard 

Approaching from the mill; 
Into my nook beneath the bank 
I slipped, so sly and still. 

"Sambo, you's sho you seed him dar? 

Now boy don't tell me lie." 
"Seed him, Dad Joe, den if I aint, 

I hopes dis nigg-er'll die. 

"Seed him, I did; you bet your life. 

Seed him and heerd him too. 
He wunk his eye, he grit his teeth, 

I gos! dis nigger flew." 

"I know jis what it is," says Joe ; 

"I'se seed de berry same 
Down on Pedee, in Souf Caline; 

De Marmaid,dat's de name." 

"No sir," said Sam, "dat wa'nt no maid; 

Dat was a grown up man ; 
His beard was longer 'an Marse Jim's 

His face was mighty tan. 

"His skin was green like lizard's skin. 
His head looked like 'er eel's; 

And when he grinds dem teef, good land, 
Dis nigger show his heels." 

"I b'liebe Sam's skeered till yit," says one, 
"He's feered to git his pole." 

•'You don't git me down dar," says Sam 
"I aint gwinenigh dat hole." 



SPARKS 41 

"Dad Joe's skeered too," another said, 

''For all you hearn him say 
He's seed dese t'ings, he's ready now 

Fust man to run away." 

"It aint no sich ; you 'sultin chap 

To talk 'bout ole man so." — 
"Well dat's all right; but jis de same 

You is afeered to go." 

"No sich," says Joe — "Den showyo'self, 

Go down and git a drink."— 
This was a trump. The old man stared, 

And came down near the brink. 

He took the cane and lashed the waves. 

"Say, Marmaid, whar you go?" 
"He's way down under," Sambo says, 

"Feel deep down, Daddy Joe." 

"He's furder out, ole man," says he, 

"Dat bout de place he been." 
Just then I rose with a wild yell 

And jerked the old man in. 

He grabbed a root; I pulled and tugged; 

But bravely he swung on; 
The 'spender broke; I had the pants 

But Daddj^ Joe was gone. 

In a short while I neared the mill 

And rode up to the crowd; 
Old Joe was standing in the midst. 

And talking wild and loud. 



42 SPARKS 

He told the manly fight he made 
And with a victor's tones 

He showed the print of monstrous teeth 
That well nigh crushed his bones. 

And then he showed his bloody shirt 
And limbs with many a scratch; 

All which, I thought, might be the work 
Of some wild-briar patch. 

But when he came to name the thing, 

''I swan by dis ole hat 
Of all dem t'ings in Souf Caline, 

Nebber was one like dat." — 

The years rolled on. I passed again 
This pond in summer time ; 

Its banks were thick with briars wild 
Its waters green with slime ; 

There moccasins and reptiles vile 

Held undisputed sway; 
The days of fishing in that pond 

Were passed and gone for aye. 



(On the way to Tuscaloosa. 1854.) 



SPAEKS 43 



AUTOGRAPH/ 



For Miss Caroline Stahl. 



Some write for love, some write for pelf; 
It matters not, each writes himself. 
Or good or bad, or wheat or chaff, 
'Tis all the same, an ''Autograph." 

(I. F. C. Jndependence,Mo.) 



TO THE GRADUATES OF 1873. 



"Where is thy Home?" 

'Tis not the humble cot in shadowy vale, 
Tis not the mansion with its glittering w^ealth, 
ISTor yet the palace with its threatening tow^Ts; 
Nor isle, nor vast extended continent. 
Ah no, 'tis none of these. Not these my home; 
Nor e'er can be ; my home is not on Earth. 
Some call her Mother Earth, and boast her wealth 
Magnificent; but I am not her child, 
I am a pilgrim here, and far from Home. 

Nor is it in yon orb, the ''God of Day ;" 
Men call him ^uch, and such indeed he is. 
When we compare him with this molecule. 
This crust of matter which we call a world. 



44 SPARKS 

Well may we call him glorious God of Day, 
And bow us down and do him reverence. 
And yet, with all his glory, I would spurn 
To look upon him as mj'- Home. Ah no, 
His light would pale, and he himself grow dim. 
Beneath the light of those resplendent lamps 
That hang encircled from my father's dome. 

"Well, where then is thy Home?"— And wouldst thou know. 

And wouldst thou see? Then go in the twilight hour 

And look upon the deep blue vault of heaven. 

Yes, look with steady eye and steadfast gaze, 

Into the dread immensity of space. 

Seest thou those thousand and ten thousand stars 

That shine like diamonds in that arch of blue? 

These are the lamjjs hung in my Father's grounds. 

Seest thou those nebulse, like thistle-down 

Upon the wind, so high thouglit scarce can reach. 

Much less the eye? 

These are the flowers that bloom around his door. 
Seest thou that Milky Way, of worlds and worlds, 
System of systems and systems yet untold. 
Reaching far up and onward in their course. 
Beyond the grasp of thought, beyond the limit 
Of conception vast, yet on and upward still? 
This is the flowery avenue that leads 
Up to the vestibule of Heaven, 'long which 
E'en now I see the angels as tliey come 
To bring to me their messages from home. 
And oft times there they linger 'mid those worlds, 
And tell of mortal, with immortal soul. 
Chained down to earth, imprisoned here in clay. 



SPARKS 45 

And longing to be free, to take his flight 

Along this avenue, and wing his way to Heaven. 

Dost think that I am far from Home? 'Tis far. 

The distance beggars thoiiglit. The mind, in vain. 

Runs out and reaches, then runs out again; 

Places herself on mountain's topmost peak 

Of distant star, and looks, then soars away 

Out to the verge of thought; and stationed there 

Looks upward still, and upward looking soars, 

And soars and looks; till wearied by long flights. 

And disappointed oft, she droops to earth, 

Only to try the same task o'er again. 

And yet it is not far. A few more days, 

And may be years; a few more happy seasons 

Such as this which we enjoy to-day,— and then — 

The summons comes, the thread of life is snapped. 

No fabled Hades there to stay my flight. 

But up that avenue, like arrow from the bow, 

Like lightning from the cloud, like thought itself. 

The soul is sped, the angel shouts are heard, 

The pearly gates are passed, and I~am— safe — at — Home. 

And now— farewell: 
We meet no more as we have met 

And yet I would not be by you forgot ; 
One word to keep my place in memory yet. 

One thought to whisper still, ''Forget me not." 

One little word in quiet evening hour, 

When night o'er earth her mystic veil has cast, 

One thought with talismanic power 

To link me then with memories of the past. 



4(i SPARKS 

This word is ''Heaven;" and when in after years 
The lone heart bows itself in fervent prayer, 

Then look far out beyond those myriad spheres, 

And think and know that I am waiting for you there. 

Farewell, farewell. 
(C. F.C, Pontotoc, Miss.) 



FOR TOLLIE. 

Up through that vast expanse of blue, 
The dread immensity of space, 

Beyond the reach of thought, yet true, 
Unseen, unknown, there is a place, 
The Glory Land. 

It once was seen by one of old 

In vision clear, in blissful dream ; 

So bright, so glorious, we are told 
A seventh heaven it did seem, 
That Glory Land. 

Eye may not see, ear may not hear, 

Nor mind conceive such height of bliss. 

All else is dark, all else is drear. 

Yes, deathlike when compared to tliis. 
The Glory Land. 

Tollie, 'tis hard from friends to sever, 

To say farewell to those we love ; 
But we shall love and love forever. 
Within the spirit-world above. 
The Glory Land. 
(Woodlawn F. C, Paris, Texas.) 



SPARKS 47 



FOR TENNIE. 



O sweet enchantress, Poesy divine, 
Spirit of innocence, of childhood's early years, 
Come back again ; 
And in my Tennie's heart build me a shrine. 
One which 'mid smmy smiles or dreary, shadowy tears. 
Shall aye remain. 

Let it be built of truth and holy love, 
Wrought out by faith and inlaid all with precious gems 
And purest gold ; 
With diamond spire of Plope, pointing above, 
Reminding her of golden harps and diadems, 
' And joys untold. 

Yea, come once more and touch for me that heart. 
For fear the present, as so oft has been the past. 
Be all forgot ; 
Stamp there my name as by love's magic art. 
And 'neath it let these words in glory-light be cast, 
"Forget me not." 

Then when the future comes with all its train 
Of memories of fondest hopes and brightest hours. 
Once all her own ; 
When the fond heart would wander back again 
Through the dim past, and conjure up those summer flowers, 
Faded and gone. 



48 SPARKS 

Or else when blasted hopes and withered joys, 
Like mistuned lute strings, echo through the vacant heart, 
Nor ever cease ; 
When the lone spirit spurns these earthly toys, 
Turns from these faded flowers, turns from the world apart. 
To seek for peace: 

Then whisper to her heart the name of one 
Who sought to cast a ray of sunlight o'er her way. 
Sweet spirit, lend 
Thy gentle sway, that, when thus sad and lone. 
She grant to me one loving thought, and kindly say: 
"He was my friend." 
(C. F. C.,Pontotoc,Mi3S.) 



FOR LEILA. 

Yes, Leila, dear Leila, my dear little friend. 
This life is a journey, the grave is its end; 
And man is a pilgrim, and Heaven his goal; 
And his promised reward is the life of the soul. 
Then hasten we on over valley and mountain. 
Nor loiter 'mid roses, nor linger by fountain. 
Stay not. 

Yes, hasten we onward, for short is the day, 
The moments are passing, fast passing away. 
Soon this journey of life with us will be o'er. 
Soon the places that know us will know us no more; 
Though the mountains be snow-clad,no guide-post,nomark. 
Though the valleys be death-like, so dreary and dark, 
Press on. 



SPARKS 49 

Yes, hasten we onward, for life flies apace; 
And he who would win in this heavenly race, 
Has no time to lose, not a moment to sioare 
From a life of devotion, of watching and prayer. 
But upward and onward to the bright glory land, 
Where the friends we've loved here in one happy band 
We shall meet. 

How sweet is the thought as we journey along, 
Oft mingling the teardrop and sorrow's sad song 
With the duties of life that devolve on us here; 
How sweet then to think that loved spirits are near. 
That they're urging us onward, and waiting the day 
When, freed from this prison, they will bear us away 
To the skies. 

And sweet is the thought when together we start. 
With hand joined in hand and heart joined in heart. 
With hopes running high, with the future all bright 
And glorious with haloes of love's mellow light. 
When fate, in a moment, our pathways may sever. 
And hearts, torn asunder; say farewell forever 
On earth. 

Oh, sweet is the thought at a moment like this. 
That beyond this dark vale is a heaven of bliss. 
Where each teardrop we've wept here, shall turn to a smile, 
And each farewell that faded the lip for awhile. 
Will be seen as a rainbow hung out in the sky 
To remind us of friendships and loves that sliall die 
Nevermore. 



50 SPARKS 

Is this so? Then welcome the time when we too, 
With torn hearts, shall whisper that sad word, adieu: 
Though it come like a heart-throb without a relief, 
Though it sweep o'er the soul like an ocean of grief. 
Yet we'll heed not its power, we'll yield to it never; 
For ere long we shall meet, once again and forever. 
In Heaven. 

C.F, C, Pontotoc, Miss. 



FOR MAYO. 



And now to you, mj^ Mayo dear, 

I bid to you a sad farewell. 
Would that as poet, prophet, seer, 

Your future years I could foretell. 

Adown Old Time's meandering stream 
Some twenty, thirty years or more, 

I spy a maid whose age doth seem 

That magic number, just two score. 

Yes charming forty. Who can tell 

What myst'ries cluster round this joint. 

This broken link, this weird spell. 

Where time seems whittled to a point. 

The sun may lise and set, and years 

May glad flow on as glad they came ; 

She changes not, 'mid smiles or tears, 
Her age remains for aye the same. 



SPARKS 51 

'Mid ruffs and puffs, 'mid trills and frills 

And smiles that come like April showers; 

And catnip tea and syrup squills, 

Mingled with Balm of a thousand Flowers; 

Oh, who can count the joys of life 

That cluster round her, proud and haughty. 

With air of queenly freshness rife, 

And face that speaks her fair and forty! 

Others grow old and fade away 

As joys depart, as woes betide; 
She changes not, still does she stay, 

Still lingers on the sunny side. 

Is't you I see ? Ah, so you say : 

But I say not. Not such your fate. 
For you there comes a happier day. 

Or else the adage I misstate : — 
'* No goose so gray, but soon or late, 
She'll find an honest, fond, and faithful mate." 



C. F. C, Pontotoc, Miss. 



62 SPARKS 



SENIORS, FAREWELL. 



Seniors, farewell. Your task is done, 
The battle fought, the victory won. 

The strife is o'er. 
The toilsome day, the sleepless night, 
The teacher's frown, the school-girl's fright, 

Will come no more. 

The girlish romp, the merry play 

The school- girl's joy, life's brightest day. 

Too bright to last; 
The sunny hours, the fleeting years 
Of joys and griefs, of smiles and tears; 

All, all are past. 

The skies are bright, the coast is clear, 
No waves, no breakers, now appear 

On life's smooth sea. 
Heaven guide your course and grant it may 
Be smooth, and bright, and glad, for aye. 

As now it seems to be. 



r. F. C, Pontotoc, Miss, 



SPARKS 53 

''GRADUATED." 

(For Miss Mary High.) 



I'm free, I'm free, as the bird of the air; 
No one to govern, and no one to care; 
When I say yes, no one to say no; 
So "give me the reins and let me go." 



C. F. C, Pontotoc, Miss. 



FOR "LALLE." 

(Opposite picture of Sunflower and broken stem.) 



As the sunflower turns 

To the King of the day 
And breathes from his beams 

The life-giving ray ; 
So, my daughter, your warm heart 

Should turn to the truth 
And find in its bright beams 

The life of your youth. 



54 SPARKS 



Thoug-h the storm may sw^eep oveiv 

Though clouds intervene, 
Till the sun's light he hidden 

His face be unseen ; 
Whether blue sky or storm, 

Whether sunshine or shower, 
'Tis one and the same 

With this sun-loving flower. 

"You may break, you may ruin" 

The stem if you will. 
Yet the sunflower turns 

To its sun-god still. 
So the fond heart, though crushed 

Be the hopes of its youth, 
Still turns with devotion 

To the life-light of Truth. 



W.F.C., Paris, Texas. 



TO THE GRADUATES OF 1874. 



(On their presentation of a vase of wax-flowers.) 

Y''oung ladies, be the cause whate'er it may, 
That surely was for me a happy day 
Which prompted you to this rich gift you've brought 
Rather than one "that money might have bought." 
No "silver vase richly with gold embossed," 
No ''diamond set," no "gem of untold cost," 
Could half so much delight my eye to-day 
As does this lovely, beautiful bouquet. 



SPARKS 55 

Through all my life long, ever since a chiid, 
I've had a love for flowers. — A passion wild — 
That knew no bound. There is a beauty there 
That points the soul to Heaven ; a fragrant air 
That breathes of Heaven ; a blush of youth. 
Whispering of innocence, of love and truth; 
One thing that has escaped the blight of sin, 
One thing to tell what this earth would have been 
But for this blight. Who can reveal the power 
That's hidden in the beauty of a flower! 
His soul is dead to all that's pure and bright, 
Who reads not in its heaven enkindled light 
Thoughts which a Deity has written there; 
Lessons which angels with their utmost care, 
Stoop down and study ; study, and adore 
The Great Prime Architect; and more and more, 
As thus thej^ trace his goodness in each line, 
Enjoy the beauties of his work divine. 



Ah yes, I love the flowers. Ihe time has been 
When they w^ere mine in rich profusion; seen 
In all their varied forms, on every hand. 
Around my Sylvan Home. Our sunny land 
Could boast no fairer spot, before the war 
Drove us as exiles from our home afar. 
But now I have no home ; a tenant here, 
My soul still cherishes to memory dear 
The scenes of home. And o'er and o'er again 
They crowding come in their long, lingering train, 
And pass before my mind, a glittering throng 
Of joys and pleasures, moonlight, love and song; 



56 SPARKS 

Of all that wealth could buy or art devise 
To make my Sylvan Home a paradise. 

But now not one is left; all, all are gone. 
And had I power to call back one alone 
And render it immortal, 'twould not be lands, 
'Twould not be farm well tilled by faithful hands ; 
Not gilded show, nor pomp, nor wide domain; 
Not wealth with all its boasted power to reign ; 
But give, oh give me back the happy hours 
I've spent with those I love , amid the flowers. 
So like a dream of Heaven, I fain would stay 
And lengthen out to an eternal day. 

Yes, yes, I love the flowers; and knowing this, 

Your fairy fingers would supply the bliss 

Which fate denies. I thank you for the gift. 

When ties are sundered, when our barks are drift, 

Scattered far out upon life's pathless main. 

Oft shall I come and gather us again, 

As we are gathered now, and ponder o'er 

The features of my Class of 'Seventy-four. 

For with these flowers will memory evtr link 

Each face, each form, each voice, each eye; nor think 

That they have changed from what they are to-day. 

I thank you for these flowers, so fresh, so gay, 

So bright, so beautiful, so unlike art. 

So like to Nature's self, the counterpart 

Of a creative energy, a will 

That needs but one thing to complete its skill. 

And that the power of giving life. 'Tis well 

They are enclosed, or 'twere not strange to tell 



SPARKS 57 

That those self-same "Hymetian bees" should come 

And carry all my pretty wax-flowers home : 

So like to Nature that this one defect, 

The want of vital force, they'd scarce detect 

Ere that your work they had again undone. 

Marring' the victory which your skill has won. 

One thing there is more lovely than the flower; 
One thing', and only one, that has the power 
To rouse the very soul of man; to shake 
The fetters from his palsied limbs ; to wake 
The echoes of that happy time, when first, 
'Neath Eden's bower, upon his sight there burst 
A flood of beauty such that all the earth 
Seemed bathed in radiance of celestial birth. 

At once the vision charmed his raptured sight; 
His soul was all aglow, his eyes grew bright. 
The color came and went from lip and cheek ; 
He would have spoken, but he could not speak: 
All power of speech was gone. Entranced he knelt • 
Before a beauteous form : and as he felt 
The touch of those light flngers, as he grasped 
That soft white hand in his and fondly clasped 
And pressed it to his lips, — methinks that there 
And then the angels gathered round, with air 
Of wonder and astonishment, to view 
This acme of creation, something new; 
Yes, new and strange, and ne'er before essayed; 
The loveliest thing that God had ever made. 
The face of woman. O beauteous Mother Eve ! 
In God's own image made, still does Heaven leave 



58 SPARKS 

Some traces of thy loveliness in these 

Thy daughters; some mysterious ways to please, 

To charm us by the exercise of powers 

Such that like Adam we forget the flowers 

And kneel at woman's shrine. Thou Daughter Eve, 

Who dost this rich inheritance receive, 

Thou transcript of our Mother dear, couldst thou 

But realize thy power as thus we bow 

Before thee ! O could my words but tell 

That mighty influence which with magic spell 

Thou throwest around us ! mighty power to save 

Or else to drag to an eternal grave ; 

Leading us up this narrow path we tread. 

Or luring down the highway of the dead; 

Angel of mercy, harbinger of joy; 

Or else a thing of naught, a gilded toy! 

Help-meet for man, the apple that he ate 

Thou gavest 

Pardon that thought; but 'tis not yet too late 
To make amends for all the harm you've done, 
To bring back joy and peace beneath the sun. 
To purify the earth, to banish every sin, 
And woe and wretchedness, to usher in 
The great millennium. 



Then rouse thee up, 
O woman, to thy task. Drink of this cup 
Of heavenly blessedness, and taste and know. 
Of all the joys that flourish here below. 
The sweetest, best, the purest, most divine. 
Are found alone at Duty's humble shrine. 



SPARKS 59 

Kneel at her altar, lay thine offering there, 

A consecrated heart, a life of prayer; 

A mind inspired for aye with love of truth, 

A soul to Wisdom wed in early youth ; 

A being, all in all, to Virtue given, 

To Faith, to Love, to glorious Hope of Heaven. 

Then shall the angels gather round again. 

Then shall be heard that old serajDhic strain, 

That song of ''Peace on earth, good-will to man," 

Whilst Heaven admiring much thy Christ-like plan 

And noble work, will ring with joy meanwhile, 

And God will bless thee with ai^proving smile. 



Yes, rouse thee to thy work, lead forth the van; 

And solve at once the destiny of man. 

"Beauty," the magic wand to which he bows, 

"Beauty," the shrine at which he makes his vows, 

"Beauty," the talisman, with magic art. 

That sways the every fleeting of his heart. 

Beauty's the charm. — Yet not in sparkling eyes, 

Nor ruby lips, this charm of beauty lies. 

Not in the marble brow, nor silken hair; 

Not in the fairy form, nor sylph-like air; 

Not in the^dimpled cheek, nor smiling face; 

Not in enchanting voice, nor winning grace: 

'Tis not in one alone, nor all of these. 

That thou wilt find this mystic power to please. 

But in the soul, the living, speaking soul, 

That lives in these, that rules with sweet control, 

That speaks through eye and lip, through form and air, 

Shedding its genial influence everywhere; 



60 SPARKS 

Till every feature glows with living thought, 
Till every gentle influence comes unsought, 
And Life itself is all one sparkling gem 
Dropped from the great Creator's diadem. 

Oh then, this soul power seek; search for this pearl 

Of greatest -price. The gospel-flag unfurl ; 

And scatter round thy i^athway jewels bright, 

Faith, Hope and Charity, with love of right 

And fear of wrong. — Be foremost in the strife 

For Truth and Virtue. So shalt thou make thy life 

A thing of Beauty. So this mystic spell 

Within thine eye and lip shall ever dwell, 

Until thy very being will be seen 

To be a gem of Beauty, pure, serene ; 

And the Great Master will ere long stoop down. 

Take up this gem and place it in His crown. 

Oh, happiness complete! no more to sever, 

"A thing of Beauty there,— a joy forever." 

Postscript: 

Dear girls. I send you all of "poetry" a bit, 

The speech that ought to have been "rote," but was not "writ/' 

And hence could not be "spoke," but proved a mighty "flat," 

A logarithmic surd.— But never mind all that, 

Let's talk of something else. "Did ever you see an owl?" 

He has most monstrous eyes, and wears a monstrous scowl. 

Puts on a monstrous frown, and looks most monstrous wise. 

And yet can't say a thing but "hoo." I do despise, 

To see a man— but this is not my theme. "One time" 

There was a man brimful of "blank" verse and of rhyme: 

Some called it poetry; he knew 'twas only "hash." 

And hence he dealt out sparingly his "succotash." 

Sometimes his feelings would flow out iu form of ink. 

But then it took him half-a-day or so to think; 



SPARKS 61 

And what care we for this slow-plodding, lingering thought? 

It is not worth a pinch of snuff. It may be bought 

At half a groat per hundred weight. And then 'tis light 

As chaff; so when you'A'e bought, you're in the pickled plight 

Of him who bought the elephant: you do not know 

What disposition best to make of your great show. 

And so to while the time, and save yourself a bore, 

You hand it to your visitor and count him o'er 

Its beauties; and this done, no other ruse so cheap, 

You leave him there to read, and soon he's fast asleep. 



Ah well, his rhymes have done some good. Could he but know 

How much, instead of eking drop by drop, they'd flowed 

In strf ams of ocean width ; they'd cover o'er the land. 

Removing pain and want as by a magic wand; 

They'd soothe the sorrows, calm the ppssions wild and deep, 

And like a gentle opiate, put all the world to sleep. 



Poor man, he does not know all this, but vainly tries 
To rouse the world. On hobbling Pegasus he hies 
From peak to peak; yes, comes out on the public stage 
And cries aloud, ''You'd scarce expect one of my nge." 
Then soars aloft, nor ever thinks nor fears to tire. 
Until alas, he finds himself deep in the mire. 
Poor moth! he sports around a dazzling, luring flame, 
Courts his own death and ends his life in shame. 
Well, be it so. This world somehow is strangely planned; 
Or else has gr )wn perverse, since by divine command 
It first canie forth from "nothing". For in some respects 
It made but narmw leap. Who to this thought objects. 
Needs but look out upon the emptiness of fame, 
Needs see the utter nothingness of worldly name. 
Of pomp, of power, of wealth, of proud magnificence. 
Of all the world considers great; and reasoning hence 
He must conclude, unless his mind too be perverse 
And judgment biased by sin's all-pervadiug curse, 
He must decide that little do these things progress 
Beyond the state of their primeval nothingness. 



62 SPARKS 

Thea turn we back from such a phantom goal as this, 
And with the eye of faith look to our home of bliss 
Beyond the grave. There all is real, all is life; 
No empty bubbles there, no scene of endless strife 
About that sonl-entangling question, "Who shall be 
The greatest?" No, but there the soul's capacity 
Will be the only measure of its happiness. 
There each will have soul-full of bliss; nor more, nor less, 
Than serves to work out his superlative delight. 
If here on earth his soul has oft indulged in flight 
To Heaven, lived in anticipation of its joys, 
Longed to be free from sin with all its hindering cloys. 
To put on holiness, to live the life divine. 
To imitate the virtues which forever shine 
In Deity Supreme; if such his life has been, 
Ah then, for him, ear hath not heard, eye hath not seen. 
Nor hath it entered once into the mind of man, 
The joys God has ordained in His all wondrous plan 
Of vast Eternity, Then let us battle on; 

And when the storm-clouds lower, and when all hope seems gone, 
Then let us look up heavenward, from earth away, 
And least our souls on pleasures that will ne'er decay. 
Thus when the battle's o'er, and when this life is riven. 
With souls expanded and affections trained for Heaven, 
Far, far, beyond th3 realms of thought we'll soar, 
And peace and happiness be ours forevermore. 
(C.F. C. Pontotoc, Miss.) 



SPARKS 63 



TO MAY, WITH "PARADISE LOST. 



Read carefully this book, my dearest May; 
]SJor only read, but study it with care : 
Ponder the words and cull the thoughts of him 
Who ranks the first upon the roll of fame. 
Perchance the unmeasured height to which he soan 
May elevate your thoughts, enlarge your mind, 
A.nd lead you onward to his glory- world , 
Compared with which this earth is but a mote 
In far-off light of God's Eternal Throne. 

Ah, if this glory-land be but a dream, 

A picture drawn by Fancy's magic art. 

Still let me dream my three score years and ten. 

And dying dream on to the happy end. 

Or if the sight of this earth interfere, 

If naught but sightless eyeballs can secure 

This glory-vision to my raptured soul ; 

Then welcome, gladly welcome, red-hot brand. 

Disease, old age, aught else, it matters not, 

That takes my sight, so I but be thus blessed. 

Here then my choice. If this earth be the end. 
If there be naught beyond; if hopes be false, 
If fond anticipations all be vain, 
If life at last must end in endless death ; 



64 SPAEKS 

Still let me dream of Heaven ; still let me live 
'Neath rapturous visions of that spirit world: 
I'd rather spend my life in dream of Heaven, 
Than reap in one all joys of Earth combined. 

(Hope, Ark.) 



THE FIRST SUNSET. 



A lump of clay, a mass of sordid earth, 

A lifeless thing in human form, man lay; 

When God breathed into him the breath of life. 

And full developed in God's image fair, 

He walked abroad the earth, a living soul: 

Saw there, with admiration and delight. 

The kindred beauties of the world create : 

The hills, the vales, the towering forests all. 

The limpid streams that murmured 'neath the shades; 

Slaked there his thirst; on his own image gazed 

In their clear depths, and wondered what he was, 

And whence he came. Then plucked the fragrant flowers 

That grew upon the brink; and kneeling there, 

Poured forth his heart's devotion to his God. 

He straj^ed amid the groves of hanging fruits, 

And listened to the song of warbling birds 

That flattered round, as if for him alone 

They poured their carols forth; while roaming beasts, 

Both great and small, all gathered round him there. 

Each waiting in its turn his fondling hand, 

His soft caress, as glad their lord to own. 



SPARKS 65 

Meanwhile the glorious sun, the god of day, 

His rapid course around the earth has sped; 

And now, at eve, he slowly sinks away, 

Behind the hill-tops of the distant west. 

Bright clouds attend his pathway through the sky, 

To bid farewell to earth, to shower down 

In varied hue his last, faint, lingering ray: 

And he is gone. — 

But admiration now to wonder grows; 
Wonder, in turn, to fear gives way; and fear 
Becomes ere long a dread reality. 
The song of bird, the hum of bee, is hushed ; 
The sportive beasts seek their accustomed lairs; 
A deep, sad, dreary stillness deathlike broods 
O'er nature's work; and all is still and lone. 
The man o'erpowered by sense of loneliness. 
Gazes into the deep, dark vault of heaven, 
And sees the myriad worlds that mock him there. 
Lost in conjecture and in doubt, he thinks ; 
But thinks in vain. His mind is giving way. 
His powers of sight and motion too are gone. 
He rouses up, he struggles to the last; 
But all in vain : till yielding to despair, 
He gives up life, and lays him down ''to die." 
There happily he falls asleep,— 

He sleeps and nature seems in sympathy. 
The perfume of the flowers distills around 
His bed. The trembling leaves above his head, 
Bespangled with the dews of eve, reflect 



66 SPAKKS 

The diamond light of twinkling stars tliat shine 
For the first time upon the coucli of man. 
He sleeps; that is, his body sleeps, nauglit else; 
For angels gather round the sleeping form. 
And hold communion with the soul divine. 

He sleeps: but all tilings else move on the same. 
The watching stars their nightly course have run; 
The morn with lurid beams illumes the east. 
And tells that night, that first dread night, is past. 
Anon a gleam of Joy breaks o'er the earth 
And wakens all to light and life again. 

A sunbeam falls across the sleeper's face 

And rouses him from so-called "death" once more. 

He rises from his would-be ''grave," his bed 

Of violets 'neath the clambering vines : 

Looks up once more upon the glorious sun. 

Breathes once again the pure, life-giA^ing air, 

And lists again the joyous song of birds: 

Then kneels and consecrates himself to God. 

Yes, starts anew the life before him set, 

Resolved henceforth to lead a daily life; 

Each day to meet the duties of that day. 

And trust the rest to God.— 

Reader, a lesson here for you and me. 
This day, this part of time we call "a life," 
Of three score years and ten, will soon be run. 
Its sun, e'en now, has past the zenith sped, 
And slowly sinks to the far distant west. 
The night of "death," the would-be ''grave" is nigh 



SPARKS 67 

The hum of busy life dies on the ear, 

And a dread stilhiess settles over all. 

We call it ''death;" and when to us it comes, 

We clasp our hands and close our eyes, and say, 

''Vain world, farewell;" and friends say, "He is dead." 

They gather round with tears and sobs and cries, 

And bear us to our resting- place, the grave. 

Gently they lay us there beneath the sod: 

With trembling hands and aching hearts they throw 

The cold, damp earth upon our sleeping form; 

Then scatter flowers to moulder o'er the grave, 

Fit emblem of the memory of man. 

And we are dead. Life's sun has set. The joys 

And sorrows of its checkered day ar« past. 

Its clouds and sunshine greet the eye no more: 

Its joys, its tears, its labors, its rewards, 

Are numbered with the things that were, but noY>^ 

Are not. Dead ! Dead ! 

But see! the morning dawns! the glory-sun 
Breaks forth from night, and with immortal beams 
Scatters the darkness from the earth away. 
A trump is heard ; it wakes the sleeping '^dead;" 
And from their beds they rise to welcome this, 
The Resurrection Morn.— 

Mother and daughter meet, father and son, 

Husband and wife, friends and companions all; 

All hail the coming of this glorious morn. 

All join in songs of gratitude and praise. 

Of love and adoration justly due 

To Father, Son, and Spirit, three in one. 



68 SPARKS 

And as their songs and praises rend the sky, 
Archangels, seraphs, ministers of God, 
Catch the deep melody and bear it on 
Till the vast universe of God becomes 
One great cathedral: every arch and liall 
Filled with eternal anthems of God's praise. 
That burst spontaneous from the souls of ear^h. 
As thus they hail this Resurrection Morn. 

Enough: it is enough. God speed the time 
When we shall join that immortal throng; 
When the brief sj^ace of time called ''death" is past, 
And we begin the second day of Life. 

Farewell, my friend, may be we meet no more 

Till that great day upon the earth has dawned. 

It matters not, so we but fill this day 

With love and truth, with humble faith in Christ, 

AVith earnest hopes, with thoughts and words and d eeds^ 

Which in God's time shall ripen into fruits 

Fit for the Master's use ; and so shall hear 

At last, those blessed words, "Well done, well done, 

Thou faithful servant of the Lord, Come home." 

It is enough. — Reader, farewell. 



SPARKS 69 



FOR BIRDIE. 



Short is the time since first we met, 
And soon we part to meet no more : 

Say, shall we all the past forget, 

Nor ever count its pleasures o'er. 

Onward will press the flood of years, 
Drifting life's bark like painted toy, 

At sometimes freighted down with tears 
At others brimming o'er with joy. 

Say, as we float upon the tide, 

Far severed on life's shoreless sea, 

Ko more to sail thus side by side, 
Say, will you ever think of me? 

When memory, that mysterious liak. 
The future with the past entwines, 

Say, Birdie, will you sometimes think 
Of bitn who for you pens these lines? 

If so, then 'tis enough. Farewell. 

Thou^^h far apart our barks be driven, 
When comes at last death's gathering knell, 

God grant that we may meet in heaven. 

I. F. C, Independence, Mo. 



70 SPARKS 



THE LAST SUNSET. 



Hail, beauteous Day, thou brightest, cloudless morn! 

Hail, beauteous Spring, from lap of winter born ! 

The dreary snows are gone, the storms are o'er, 

December's chilling blasts are feared no more. 

The earth with verdure is again o'erspread; 

The flowers this long while numbered with the dead, 

And forests by the icy storm-king riven, 

Are smiling once again 'neath light of heaven. 

Hail, lovely earth, bedecked with fruits and flowers, 
Waked to new life by sunshine and by showers ! 
Thy fruits, thy waving corn and golden grain, 
Herald with joy: "Glad summer comes again." 

The husbandman, heart buoyed with eager hope, 
Measures his full reward in all its scope ; 
And granaries large, in fancy overfilled, 
Hastes to tear down and larger ones to build. 

The merchant too, led on by fitful dream, 
Forgetting that tilings are not what they seem, 
Seeks out whereby to add to wealth untold. 
Gathers his stores and hordes his sordid gold. 

Here, bride and groom, with fancied visions wild, 

By hope of long prosperity beguiled. 

Of wedded bliss, of happiness the sum, 

Lay plans of pleasure for long years to come. 



SPARKS 71 

Here, two affianced, like a j)air of cloves 
Still bill and coo, and tell again their loves: 
The same old tale, though oft-times told and well,. 
Yet eager listen and as eager tell. 

Here, the j^oung student with his eyes dilate 
Gazes upon enchantment's open gate, 
And scans the rugged path up to the crown 
Of fame, of honor, glory and renown. 

While here, the little child, like tender flower^ 
Looks out on life as one long summer-hour : 
Reaches its tiny arms to take the moon. 
Or chases butterflies from morn till noon. 

Fathers and mothers are but children too,. 
Reach out for moons as other children do^ 
Run after butterflies in life-long chase ; 
Oft baffled, they as oft renew the race. 

Oh, lovely earth ! home of immortal men : 
Know-nothings all, yet of infinite ken ; 
Immortal, and yet dying day by day; 
Born but to die, yet living on for aye. 

Oh, restless man ! whose race is never run ; 
Forever doing, and yet never done ; 
The more he has, the more he yet does crave, 
'Tis toil, toil, toil, from cradle to the grave. 

So the Last Sunset comes to him at length, 
And finds him toiling with his utmost strength,. 



72 SPARKS 

Planning and building as in days of old, 
Digging and delving, hoarding up his gold. 
Then hies liini to his couch when day is o'er. 
Planning the morrow how he'll hoard the more. 

The morrow comes ; but with a glory light 
'Neath which sun, moon, and stars fade into night; 
For east, west, north, or south, 'tis all the same, 
A flood of light as of celestial flame : 
Light so intense reveals the forms in air. 
Angels, archangels, spirits everywhere. 
Above, around, self-poised, self-moved, self-willed, 
Beings with whom the realms of space seem filled. 
Now here, now there, yet neither walk nor fly. 
Like thought they move, like twinkle of the eye, 
From heaven to earth they vanish to and fro. 
Like visions of the night they come and go. 

When list, a trump is heard ; its clarion notes 

Ring out through heaven. Its music floats 

O'er earth and sea, calling tlie dead to rise 

And meet the great Messiah in the skies. 

At once they come ; while forms of men 

In twinkling of an eye are changed, and then 

All gather at the trumpet's call. When, lo ! 

The heavens blaze with a resplendent glow ; 

As myriad hosts of angels gather round, 

The mighty vault of space seems filled with sound. 

Like rush of mighty waters as they iDour 

Over the cataract, or like the roar 

Of ocean lashed to rage by winter storm. 

These myriad hosts together come, and form 

A phalanx reaching to the Great White Throne. 



SPARKS 73 

Another trump; scarce seems a moment flown; 
A distant trump: the phalanx opens wide 
A highway through its ranks, as, side by side, 
They form an avenue from earth to lieaven. 

The voice of praise breaks forth, tlie heavens are riven 

As with the earth from sight they fade away. 

And the whole universe seems filled with Day: 

A Da7 that knows no night, eternal noon, 

Not reflex light like that of silvery moon. 

Nor radiate light like that of golden sun; 

Not light that may be sten at all, but one 

That must be felt; that fills alike all space. 

Through all transfluent; so that like the face 

The inner life doth shine. No secrets there. 

All thought, all feeling, clear and pure as air. 

There needs no speech, no voice, no language sign; 

But by an intuition, like divine. 

Into the soul communications come. 

Of Light the essence and of Day the sum, 

Such day is this which from The Great White Throne 

Bursts forth, as Christ, the King, his church to own, 

From Heaven comes down. The Church, his promised bride 

For whom as man he came to earth and died. 

The Church, the bride, in robe of spotless white 

Awaits her king; and with this coming light. 

Rises on high to meet him in the air, 

And so to be with him forever there. 

Now soft and sweet the music floats on high. 
Of voices tuned to Angel minstrelsy : 
Such soft sweet strains of music as are meet 
When comes a king his royal bride to greet. 



74 SPARKS 

But when the crown is placed upon her brow, 
Such shout as ne'er was heard in heaven till now 
Rings out, peal after peal, peal after peal. 
Till the glad power all nature seems to feel. 
Heaven's center on its mighty pillars shakes, 
And Hell beneath to its foundation quakes. — 
And well: for in that one glad shout is told. 
To all God's universe, that story old 
Of Babe of Bethlehem. Now, King of Kings, 
Up to his throne his loving bride he brings. 
Mortal has put on Immortality, 
And death is swallowed up in Victory. 

Enough. Sun, moon, and stars are all forgot. 
Time is no more. Time was, but now is not. 
Years, ages, cycles, all have passed away, 
And now begins the one eternal Day. 



FOR NANNIE. 
(Opposite picture of Carrier Dove.) 



In after years when you are sad and lone. 
The friends of other days perchance all gone, 

And e'en their names forgot; 
My spirit like this carrier dove shall come 
Back to its resting place, its long-loved home. 

And whisper then, "Forget me not." 

W.F. C. Paris, Tex. 



SPARKS 75 



LITTLE WHITE VIOLET. 

(An Allegory.) 



As I wandered, homeward wandered 
On my pathway through the forest, 
Near I spied, within a rock-rent 
'Neath the over-hanging mountain, 
Crj'-stal spring of purest water 
Trickling from its mossy bed. 

Overhead a graceful holly 
Dense and dark with crowded branches 
Set with ever-living foliage, 
All the rock-rift overshaded. 
And a vine of lovely jessamine 
Twined around this graceful holly, 
Twined among the waving branches ; 
Intermingled with the foliage. 
Crowning all with golden clusters 
Of the brightest, sweetest flowers; 
Till the air was filled with sweetness, 
Filled w^ith fragrance of the flowers. 

Any wonder that I tarried? 
Every morning, every noonday, 
Tarried in this wildwood Eden, 
In this dream of Paradise : 
Rested in this cozy alcove. 
From the dreary, dusty pathway, 



76 SPARKS 

Till in time the o^ershadin"- holly 
And the sweetly bloominf^- jessamine 
Came to know me as their friend. 
Any wonder that I tarried? 

Hiding in this lovely Eden 
Was a tiny violet; 

White and pure as crystal snowflake, 
Feather from an angel wing, 
Peering through the grassy carpet, 
Peeping through the moss-clad surface, 
Smiling at the bright blue sky. 

If on earth there is a relic 
Of man's innocence primeval, 
Ere that sin had marred his features — 
If on earth there be such emblem, 
'Tis this modest little flower. 

Any wonder that I loved it? 
That I knelt me there beside it? 
Every morning knelt beside it, 
Kissed the dew from off its petals. 
Drank the fragrance of its breath? 
Yes, and oft at sultry noontide. 
From the dusty pathway turning. 
There I sat me by this flower; 
Sat and gazed upon its beiiuty, 
Studied its angelic beauty. 
Light of Heaven sent down to me : 
Light of Heaven, a. Fathers message 
Sent to erring son of earth. 



SPARKS 77 

For it told the wondrous story 
Of the Absolute Infinite, 
Who weighs mountains in a balance, 
Measures the ocean in a span, 
And yet marks the sparrow's fall. 
And it told of gentle Shepherd 
Fondling lambkins in his arms; 
And yet caring for the wanderer. 
For the lost one from the sheepfold. 
Searches through the mountain jungle, 
Searches through the desert by-ways, 
Takes him fondly to his bosom 
Bears him back to home and heaven. 
Any wonder that I loved it? 

But a change came o'er my pathway ; 
For an April storm swept over: 
Gathered thicker, gathered darker. 
Swept across the trembling forest; 
And the mighty rock was rended, 
And the holly-tree was shaken, 
And the jessamine vine was blighted, 
And — the violet — was^dead. 

Bring the casket; bring white flowers, 
Place them in her tiny fingers ; 
Lay her 'neath the green grass carpet; 
Lay her 'neath the moss-clad surface ; 
Earth she is— to earth returneth ;— . 
Little Beryl — comes— ho — more. 

God of Mercy, Holy Spirit, 
Comforter of human hearts. 



78 SPARKS 

Wilt thou lead iis through this darkness? 
Wilt thou guide us with thine eye? 
Take us by the hand and lead us, 
Lead us through this life-long darkness, 
Upward to thy glory mansion ; 
There we'll find our little Beryl, 
There we'll find our angel one. 

(H. F. C, Hope, Ark.) 



BINGEN ON THE MINE. 



A teacher of the Legion was teaching in Algiers. 

There were lots of women's troubles, there was flood of 

woman's tears ; 
But a comrade stood beside her to hear what she would say, 
As her voice now feebly faltered and her tear-drops ebbed 

away. 
For these tear-drops washed their furrows through the rouge 

and dimples red, 
Leaving there a deathly paleness, -as she took his hand and 

said : 
*'The edict has been issued ; and to-morrow morn at nine 
Meets the Institute at Bingen, — at Bingen on the Mine. 

''There my brothers and my sisters all will meet and crowd 

around 
To tell their gladsome stories, on the pleasant college 

ground. 



SPARKS 79 

Of the battles, bravely fought, of the duties nobly done, 
Of the weary homeward marching with the slowlj'^ setting 

sun: 
And 'mid that throng there will be one, not yet grown old 

in war, 
Who now this edict issues calling us from near and far. 
Calling us to meet together and our wisdom to combine. 
Yes, to meet with him at Bingen, — at Bingen on the Mine. 

"Yes my brothers and my sisters all will meet and crowd 

around, 
And myself, of all the Legion, the only one not found 
In that literary throng. Then what is life to me-e-e 
If with my brothers and my sisters I never more can 

be-e-e?" 
(And the tears ebbed forth afresh.) Then that comrade tried 

to speak, 
As he wiped away the tear-drops and the color from her 

cheek ; 
And round her form his manly arm did lovingly entwine, 
For the honor of old Bingen,— dear Bingen on the Mine. 

"Nay, weep not so, fair lady; in the happy days gone by 
You have known a life of merriment that sparkles in your 

eye: 
By nature made for coquetry and fond of idle scorning, — 
Oh friend, I fear the heaviest heart makes sometimes light- 
est mourning. — 
Then cheer you up, my lady fair, and ere the sun be risen 
My buggy shall be at the gate and you be out of prison. 
At twelve o'clock, I jpledge my word, to-morrow you shall 

dine 
On the vine-clad hills of Bingen,— fair Bingen on the Mine." 



80 SPARKS 

They saw the blue Mine sweep along-; they heard, not 

seemed to hear. 
The splash and splatter of the mud in chorus wild and drear, 
As across some b(»ggy bottom, or up some sticky hill, 
The brattling- buggy sounded through that long day, calm 

and still ; 
And her bright black eyes were on him, as they tugged with 

friendly talk, 
Down many a sloshy valley, in a slow, poke-easy walk; 
And her little hand in his, as the moon began to shine 
They drove up into Bingen, — loved Bingen on the Mine. 

There Avere present of the Legion but a very select few; 
And "conspicious by his absence" was superintendent Q; 
For la grippe had him in limbo, and he couldn't get away; 
So the teachers of the Legion will meet some other day. — 
And again the moon rose slowly, and calmly she looked 

down 
On two, struggling back to Algiers, — to that gulley-riven 

town ; — 
Yes, calmly on that dreadful scene her i3ale light seemed to 

shine. 
As it shone on distant Bingen, — fair Bingen on the Mine. 



P. s. 

The reader 



]er will please bear constantly in mind, that the correct pronun- 
ciation of this name is "Binjiii," it being an original arid aboriginal contrac- 
tion of '-Big Injen, Too Muchee." 
Columbus, Ark. 



SPARKS 81 



KAIULANI. 



'Mid the Islands of Hawaii, 
'Mong- the Mountains and the Forests, 
'Mong the Valleys and the Streamlets; 
Where the Moonbeams love to loiter; 
Where the Southern Breezes linger 
With their stores of sweetest fragrance, 
Stores of perfumes, and aromas 
From the tropic fruits and flowers ; 
Through the Orange Groves and Palm Trees, 
Through her native Heaths and Wildwoods, 
'Neath the Banyan and the Cocoa, 
Roamed a lovely Child of Nature, 
Lovely Princess Kaiulani. 

Hers the light step of a fairy; 
Light and airy, free and graceful; 
With the movement of a goddess, 
O'er her native Isles she roamed. 

Hers the spirit of an angel, 

With no thought of harm or danger, 

Free from envy, free from malice, 

Innocent herself of evil. 

She suspected none in others. 



SPARKS 

Thus were spent the years of childhood, 
In her home among- the islands; 
Home of Superhuman beauty, 
Where the Works and Wealth of Nature 
Supplemented those of Art. 

In the shadow of the Mountains 
Of the great and grand old Mountains, 
With their dark and shadowy Craters, 
'Neath the Palm trees and the Wildwoods 
'Neath the wide-spread, shadowy Banyan, 
Stood the Palace of her fathers. 

Here she spent the years of childhood 
That endeared her to her people. 
Wheresoever her footsteps wended, 
There they were to watch and tend her. 
Ready ever to befriend her. 
Thus she grew to know them singly, 
Thus she learned to love them fondly, 
Met them ofttimes by the wayside, 
In their cottages and cabins; 
Listened to their wondrous stories 
Telling of her Grandsire's prowess, 
Of his wisdom, of his glories, 
Kamahamaha, the Mighty. 

Then hc-r father, loving father. 
Fondly doting on his daughter, 
Doting on his only daughter. 
Gave her books and gave her i3ictures, 
Trained her mind, her heart, her body; 



SPARKS 88 

Aided by her faithful tutors, 
Cultured every childish impulse, 
Till she grew to be a treasure. 
True and trusting, bright and happy. 

Then her mother's only sister, 
Reigning Queen o'er all these Islands, 
Took the happy little creature. 
Named her Princess Kaiulani; 
Made her Heiress of the Kingdom, 
Heir apparent of Hawaii. 
Bright and happy Kaiulani, 
Thus her childhood sped away, 

Then to Europe Lord and Lady, 
Prince and Princess , Queen and Empress, 
From the lowest to the highest 
Greet her coming, bid her welcome ; 
Welcome to the social circle, 
Welcome to the family circle, 
Welcome to the scliool and college, 
Welcome, gentle Kaiulani. 

Years roll on, the gracef al maiden 
Grows up now to womanhood. 
Bright, refined, and educated; 
Neat, polite: in all things fitted 
For the great life-work before her ; 
She looks forward with a longing. 
Earnest longing for the coming 
Of the happy time appointed 
For her joyous Coronation. 



84 SPARKS 

All the Islands are in raptures 

Mirth and joy, and festive gatherings, 

Loud proclaim the welcome tidings 

Of the coming of the Princess. 

Yes, she's coming to her people, 

To her own beloved people, 

Heir- apparent to the throne. 

Bnt a change comes o'er the scene. 
Change of dark and threatening import, 
Change of gloom and death foreboding. 
Change as dark and unexfjected 
As will be at Day of Judgment, 
When before the Great Tribunal 
There will stand in awe and silence 
Every man to hear his doom. 

Yes, a change came o'er the scene ; 
Change the young girl ne'er had dreamed of, 
Change she had no cause to think of 
Much less, reason to expect. 

Armored ships in line of battle 
Anchored off her Island shore; 
Armored men with bristling bayonets. 
Drums all beating, flags all flying. 
Landed on her Island shore. 

Vain were all expostulations, 

Vain were tears, vain all entreaties; 

Home of fathers, home of childhood, 

Spare, oh spare my Island Home! 

All in vain. Their only answer 

Came back coldly; this: ''We want it." 



SPARKS 85 

Is it real? Am I dreaming? 
God of Heaven, can this be so? 

Vain were all her plaintive pleadings 
'Mong the various Christian nations. 
Sure it was a Christian nation, 
First and foremost Christian nation. 
First of all the Christian nations, 
Seized upon and took her kingdom. 
Sons of Christian Missionaries 
Took away tlie throne and scepter 
Of a weak, defenseless woman ; 
What the Cross had failed to accomplish, 
With Mohammed's sword they finished. 
God have mercy on the Christians. 

Well, 'tis done. The crime's recorded 
In the Great Book of the Future. 
When shall come the Final Judgment 
When that Great Book shall be opened. 
When the hearts, the thoughts, the intents, 
When the purposes and wishes 
All designs and secret plannings, 
Each stands forth in light of day; 
Then these questions will be settled. 
Each receive his own reward. 

But the unsuspecting Princess, 
Gentle, child-like Kaiulani, 
Sad at heart, and sore dejected, 
Hopes all blasted, disappointed. 
To her lonely home retiring. 
Broken-hearted, passed away; 



8« SPARKS 

Faded like the drooping flowret 
When the scorching- sun-rays wither 
Life and beauty, which if tended 
By some kindly ministration, 
Might have been to earth a model , 
And a blessing to mankind. 

Passed away; and soon the story 
Of her life will be forgotten 
And 'tis well. God made it so. 

God have pity on that human 
Who, with heart devoid of feeling, 
Sympathy to him a stranger; 
Who, to cloak wrongs of a nation, 
Or for any other purpose, 
Would descend to depth so low 
As to mar the Princess' title 
As to cloud her life of beauty 
As to cast e'en slightest shadow 
On this fair girl's life and station; 
God have pity on his poor soul. 

But to those who knew her truly, 

Those who watched her 'long life's pathway' 

These who saw the bud unfolding 

Into beauteous womanhood ; 

To us, there is a precious relic, 

One Avhich time can never tarnish 

One which ne'er can fade away. 

Yes, the life, the love, the beauty. 
Of this God-blessed child of Nature, 



SPARKS 87 

Of this lovely Christian maiden, 
O'er the earth has left a radiance, 
On the heart has left an impress, 
Which shall never pass away. 

And when comes the glory-morning, 
Seraphs, cherubs, angels gathering 
'Round the Great White Throne in Heaven, 
All will welcome Kaiulani. 



THE LAST SABBATH BELL. 



I. 

Solemnly, mournfully, 
The tolling is past; 

For the Carfew Bell 
Has tolled its last. 

Uncover the embers 

And kindle the light, 

Joy comes with the morn 
After a sleepless night. 

Bright grow the heavens. 
All radiant with day, 

And the dark shades of niglit 
Have aye passed away. 

Deep trills the echo 
Of music and song, 

From angelic voices 
Of a myriad throng. 



88 SPARKS 

Who join in the chorus 
This day to install, 

"Blest Immortality 
Reigns over all." 

II. 

Joyfully, joyfully, 
Swell upon swell. 

Come the deep tones 

Of the last Sabbath Bell: 

Echo on echo 

From star back to star, 
Cheerfully, cheerily. 

Rolling afar. 

Filling with melody 

Heaven's high dome ; 

List to its deep tones, 

''Come, Come, oh Come." 

From North, from South, 

From East, and from West, 

Are gathering now 

The souls of the blest. 

Yes, angels of Heaven 
And spirits of air, 

With the spirits of earth, 
Are gathering there. 

List their glad song, 

''Life's duties are done; 

Hail the blest morn. 

The Sabbath's begun." 



SPARKS 

Then waken the echo 

And pour forth the soul. 

And oceans of harmony- 
Forever will roll, 

Will fill the broad sweep 

Of Infinity's shore, 
To be lost in the past 

No more, nevermore. 

Till world upon world 

Taking up the sweet strain, 
And age after age 

Sending back the refrain, 

Will waft the glad echo 

Through Heaven's great hall, 
"Blest Immortality 

Reigns over all." 

III. 

Then close up the book 

Till that last great day; 

For the hand that now writes it 
Shall be laid away ; 

And the thoughts that now fill it 

Forgotten shall lie, 
Like leaves of the forest, 

To wither and die. 

Yet think of this truth 

Ere the story be told : 
Though the windows be darkened 

And the hearth-stone be cold, 



90 SPARKS 

Thoug-h darker and darker 
The black shadows fall, 

Yet, "Blest Immortality 
Reigns over all." 

Though the darkness be death-like, 
It will soon pass away ; 

And then will begin 
That glorious day, 

When the hand that now writes, 
With life will grow warm ; 

And these thoughts will come back 
Immortal in form. 

Life's hopes and its joys, 

E'en its tenderest ties , 
E'en the friendship scarce formed 

Ere 'tis severed and dies; 

All these will come back 

Like waves to the strand, 

To glad the blest soul 
In that spirit land. 

Then with joy let us bid 

To earth a farewell, 
And be all gathered home 

By the last Sabbath Bell. 

(la Mrs. Gaillard's Album, "Sabbath Bells," Pontotoc, Miss.) 



THE END. 



NOV 16 1899 



